


baby save me from the troubles of my own skin

by punkpete



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Angst, Banter, Barebacking, Blow Jobs, Bottom Pete, Fingering, Fluff, Karaoke, Love Confessions, M/M, Mentions of Mental Illness, Porn With Plot, Self-Esteem Issues, Smut, Soul Punk Era, Strip Tease, dallon makes a very brief appearance, its definitely a lot to do with the music, jealous pete, old fob album references, this could kind of be considered a song fic?, this one is a doozy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-24
Updated: 2018-01-03
Packaged: 2019-02-06 07:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12812544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/punkpete/pseuds/punkpete
Summary: Pete is the type of person who’s easy to find. He can never stay still too long, is always busy, moving. He’s got it down now, the practiced dance of weaving in and out of the public eye. He also knows to keep his secrets close to his chest. He tends to stay in LA more than anywhere else, usually for work. If he had it his way he’d stay in Chicago for the rest of his life. But he remembers a time where he never thought he’d get out of that place, was desperate to leave and only had one ticket out. A golden ticket. The kid with the voice that saved him from a pathetic existence.Or the one where Pete and Patrick grow apart during the hiatus and they're trying to put the pieces (and the band) back together.





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fic in bandom so pls be nice to me lol. this is currently just the first half of this fic so give me feedback and let me know how it is. the porn will come in part 2 ha sorry for being a tease as usual. brendon is only used in this fic as a plot device so im sorry if it displays him in a negative light i just wanted some Drama y'know. some other familiar faces may make an appearance in part 2. 
> 
> this fic is my baby and my love letter to soul punk because that album sincerely deserved better. i'm quite iffy on my characterization of pete in the sense that i feel like he isn't....ridiculously quirky enough, you know what i mean? i just thought it was best to try and write him as more sweet and sincere than anything else because this fic has some pretty heavy topics in it and it got away from me. but the second half of this will probably include some shenanigans so maybe i can give it a wentz trademark eh. 
> 
> title is from everybody wants somebody by patrick because. this is the soul punk fic. that is an amazing song. and i just thought it was a fitting title. i considered using a regular old fob lyric for this, but it didn't feel quite right. 
> 
> sorry for any inaccuracies or flubs in the timeline here but i did it for my own convenience and patrick did open for panic! it's just he did his own solo tour in little venues first. 
> 
> thank u if u read all of this sorry for rambling please enjoy my dumb story about idiots in love. 
> 
> u can find me on tumblr @gothicpete feel free to come yell at me about whatever this hot mess is. 
> 
> disclaimer: this is a work of fiction based on real people but obviously none of it actually happened and i do not own fall out boy. if you happen to be one of the members of said band, hit the back button before i scar you for life. here's looking at you, petey.

Pete is the type of person who’s easy to find. He can never stay still too long, is always busy, moving. He’s got it down now, the practiced dance of weaving in and out of the public eye. He also knows to keep his secrets close to his chest. He tends to stay in LA more than anywhere else, usually for work. If he had it his way he’d stay in Chicago for the rest of his life. But he remembers a time where he never thought he’d get out of that place, was desperate to leave and only had one ticket out. A golden ticket. The kid with the voice that saved him from a pathetic existence.

 

Patrick has saved his life a dozen times, if he’s being honest. That’s sort of the problem. Patrick being his rock was a part of this hiatus he didn’t quite think through. Not being around him on a day to day basis has thrown off his balance. They haven’t spoken in six months, give or take. Pete would like to blame that on them both being busy, but he knows that’s bullshit. He knows that Patrick is working on _Soul Punk,_ but he’s incredibly hard to be found if he doesn’t want to be.

 

Pete is sure he’s somewhere in Chicago, but he doesn’t know if that means he’s staying with Joe or Andy, for all he knows he could be staying in a hotel near the recording studio. Hell, he could even be holed up at home with his parents. The point is Patrick is a bit of a reclusive hermit, wants to stay out of the media as much as possible unless it’s about the music.

 

Pete tends to be the opposite of him in a lot of ways, always loud and bold in what he has to say and he doesn’t really care what other people think. He’s grateful for the fanbase they have, is happy to interact with people on Twitter, even if he’s tweeting utter fuckery that makes absolutely no sense to anyone. It’s funny to watch people try to figure him out. He’s not sure what’s so cryptic about being blunt.

 

He has no idea where Patrick is, but he has a lot of places to look and phone calls to make if he wants to find him. Luckily he’s good at charming people into giving him what he wants. He’s cleared his weekend of any work commitments, is determined to figure out where things between them went wrong and caused this radio silence. He has an inkling as to why in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t dare voice it. It’s too dangerous to assume something as life changing as that, something that might jeopardize his future.

 

He calls Andy first, because he’s the one most likely to deal with Pete’s interrogation with at least a semblance of a pleasant attitude. He leans his packed suitcase on the coffee table and sinks back into the couch cushions, propping his feet up on the plastic of the case and thumping his feet to a beat only he can hear.

 

“Yes?” Andy says, a little muffled, as if he’s been put on speaker.

 

“Hey, man. Great to hear from you. How’s the drumming lifestyle goin’ for ya?” Pete replies, trying to keep his tone even and nonchalant. He should know better. Andy is too observant to not detect his pathological liar tendencies. Not to mention, Pete isn’t good at acting natural.

 

“It’s fine. But that isn’t why you’re calling.” Andy states, his voice a little flat but with a lilt of curiosity. Pete sighs and accepts defeat. He didn’t expect to cave so quickly into this phone call. He thought he could stall for another few minutes.

 

“You’re right,” Pete starts, swallowing hard and trying to collect himself before he can speak again. “I’m looking for ‘Trick.” He forces himself to say, incredibly proud that he didn’t stutter over the nickname.

 

“Of _course_ you are. I should’ve known.” Andy snorts, clearly not impressed by Pete’s lack of tact.

 

“That’s fair. So do you know where he is?” Pete presses, resting his forehead against his knee and taking in a shallow breath.

 

“Chicago…” Andy trails off, as if he’s talking to a child. Pete rolls his eyes.

 

“I know that, you dick. _Where_ is he staying in Chicago?” Pete clarifies. There’s a long pause.

 

“He told me not to tell you.” Andy replies, and his tone is melancholy as if he pities him. Pete can’t have that, no matter how quickly those words make his heart drop.

 

“He knew I would ask.” It isn’t a question. Patrick knew he would come looking for him eventually. It just stings to know that he doesn’t want to see Pete.

 

“I don’t know what you did, but I hope you fucking fix it.” Andy grumbles.

 

“I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me where he is!” Pete hisses, running a hand through his thick hair anxiously.

 

“That’s true. I’m surprised you didn’t call Joe first.” Andy sighs, clearly put out about what he should do.

 

“Why?” Pete asks, the silence dragging on between them for a few long seconds. And then it clicks.

 

“He’s staying with Joe, isn’t he? For fuck’s sake, that’s what I thought.” Pete groans, hitting his forehead against his knee several times.

 

“You didn’t hear it from me.” Andy laughs, as if this entire thing doesn’t have the future of the band riding on it. (Pete admits he’s a drama queen, but to be fair, he doesn’t even know what he did wrong).

 

“Riiiight. Sure, dude. I have to go. Big plans this weekend.” He bites his lip, mentally figuring out when his plane will land in Chicago and how fast he can make it to Joe’s place. Maybe if he catches Patrick by surprise he can have the upper hand.

 

“I’m gonna tell him that you’re coming.” Andy says, as if he’s reading Pete’s mind.

 

“Fuck you.” Pete spits.

 

“He deserves to know. I’ll just wait to tell him until after your plane lands. That way I’m _almost_ a good friend to everyone.” Pete can picture his smug grin through the phone.

 

“Whatever. I’ll talk to you on Monday, when this shit is sorted. Thank you, even if you are an insufferable fucker.” Pete hangs up with a flourish, checking the time before sliding on his shoes and a hoodie. He drags his suitcase behind him as he exits his house and locks it behind him.

 

He calls himself a cab and then sends Joe a text.

 

_i’m on my way. make sure he doesn’t leave. please. i’ll owe you._

 

All he gets in response is **‘K’**. He’s tempted to bitch at him for it, but he figures that’s pushing his luck.

 

xxx

 

Patrick is locked up in Joe’s guest room with his laptop and his guitar. The writing process has been hard, but he’s nearly finished with the album. He just has to tweak these last two songs and it’ll be as perfect as he can make it. The rest of the songs have already been recorded in the studio, and he’s been thinking about the concept for the first single’s music video.

 

He doesn’t even have to organize the tour this time around because he’s opening for _Panic!_ which seems like a weird dose of irony if you ask him. But it’s kind of comforting, having familiar people surround him when he’s giving his solo career a shot and everything seems brand new. He just hopes he can keep the questions about Pete (and the band as a whole, really) to a minimum.

 

As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door and Joe pushes it open to lean against the doorframe. Patrick closes his laptop and sets his guitar on the bed. Before he can ask what’s going on, Joe is beating him to it.

 

“Andy just called. Pete’s gonna be here by dinner.” Joe looks at him sympathetically. Patrick feels frozen, his stomach churning even at the prospect of seeing Pete.

 

“Andy let him know where I was and he couldn’t even tell me to my face. Fuckin’ coward.” Patrick growls.

 

“Can’t blame him. He didn’t wanna be in the line of fire. I’m just the messenger, please don’t kill me.” Joe placates, putting his hands up in the air. Patrick starts shoving his guitar into it’s case and sliding his laptop into his bag. He grabs his jacket from the corner of the room and zips it up.

 

“Get out of my way and I won’t have to.” Patrick warns.

 

“I’m afraid I can’t do that. I promised him you wouldn’t leave.” Joe sighs, looking down at his nails as if he’s bored.

 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. I am an adult! I can leave here whenever I damn well please, and you won’t stop me!” Patrick punctuates the statement by poking Joe in the chest as hard as he can.

 

“It is my duty as your friend and his to not let you go. It is also my responsibility to keep this band together. Mediator is my middle name. Have you missed the last several years?” Joe looks as if he wants to slap him. The feeling is mutual. He can feel the rage bubbling under his skin, but it isn’t directed at Joe.

 

“Have _you?_ We haven’t been a band for a while now. Hiatus, break up, call it what you will. It’s over.” Patrick hisses, and it tastes like acid as it leaves his mouth. He immediately regrets it, can see the way Joe’s face falls and his hands ball into fists.

 

“I hope you realize this isn’t just your decision to make. It might be news to you, but there are other people in this band besides you. In fact, not everything revolves around you.” Joe spits. It’s the worst thing either of them has ever said to each other, and it’s completely counterproductive but once he gets going he can’t fucking stop.

 

“No, of course not. We’re all aboard the Pete Wentz Trainwreck. Everything is about what he wants and what he says goes. Aren’t you fucking sick of it?” Patrick’s voice booms through the silence of the apartment, all he can hear is the blood pounding in his ears. He’s sure his face is as red as a tomato, and his shoulders are starting to ache with his guitar across his back and his duffle bag tucked under his arm.

 

“That’s why we took this break in the first place, asshole. But you can’t just blame him for everything. That’s not how this works. We’re a team. And it’s time you two suck it up and get along.” Joe turns on his heel and slams the door in his face before he can get another word in edgewise. Patrick huffs, dropping his bag to the floor and leaning his guitar against the wall dejectedly.

 

He could throw another temper tantrum, but he’s pretty sure it won’t do him any good when the door is locked from the outside until further notice. He’s probably stuck in here until Pete shows up, and he feels sick just thinking about it. He’s tempted to climb out through the window, but it’s far too high up if he wants to stay alive in the foreseeable future.

 

He crawls back into the bed and burrows himself under the covers. He’ll just have to sleep away his troubles until dinner.

 

xxx

 

As soon as Pete is off the plane and in a cab on the way to Joe’s place, he decides to call him and see what’s going on over there. He hopes it won’t be a war zone, but he knows Patrick far too well. He’s all cold silences or burning rage. There is no in between. Passive aggressive would be the best case scenario.

 

“Are you almost here?” Joe’s voice comes through the line, sounding incredibly fed up and worn out.

 

“Yeah. I’ll be there in ten. I just wanted to ask how he is.” Pete supplies, tapping nervous fingers against his jean clad thigh.

 

“Oh, you know. The usual. He threw a tantrum. Said some things he didn’t mean. He’s asleep now.” Joe sighs. Pete frowns, feeling the little knot of dread in his stomach tighten.

 

“Has he been working too hard? Should I let him sleep?” Pete is considerate. If Patrick wants the night to get some rest and collect himself before they talk, he’ll let him. Besides, Pete usually sleeps on Joe’s couch anyway.

 

“I’ve been making sure he’s eating and sleeping properly most of the time. He’s fine. I’ll wake him up when dinner is ready. You’re making it, by the way. You owe me for this.” Joe says, exasperated.

 

“I owe you for a lot of things, man. It’s the least I can do. Also, the way to Patrick’s heart is through his stomach. I’ve totally got it covered.” Pete lets a tentative smile spread across his face. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

 

“I hope so. If you two start arguing I’m kicking you both out on your asses.” Joe groans.

 

“Yeah, that’s fair. Hopefully I can keep him calm and compliant.” Pete doubts he can make Patrick calm down without being slapped across the face. But it’s worth a shot.

 

“You sound like you’re trying to woo him. You want me to leave you two alone, give you some candles to light?” Joe teases. Pete flushes, biting his lip and trying to compose himself before he speaks.

 

“Shut up.” _Great come back there, Wentz._ Totally not transparent. Even if Pete were the best liar in the world, it wouldn’t matter. Joe is the most observant person he’s ever met. He probably knows things about Pete that he doesn’t even know about himself.

 

“Fine. But you better be making your famous homemade spaghetti.” Joe pleads.

 

“This isn’t about you.” Pete replies, rolling his eyes.

 

“It never is.” Joe deadpans.

 

“You know what I mean,” Pete snorts. “But I wouldn’t have it any other way. Spaghetti it is.”

 

“Cool. See ya soon, Petey.” With that, Joe hangs up.

 

Pete slides his phone back into his pocket and grabs the handle of his suitcase. The cab is turning the corner onto Joe’s street. He makes his way to the front door and rings the bell. His heart is pounding hard and his knees feel weak, as if they’ll give out any second. Why is he nervous? He’s here to see his boys. It will be fine. It has to be.

 

Joe pulls the door open and guides him inside while patting him on the back. They exchange greetings, and Pete lets himself take in his surroundings. He hasn’t been in this house for almost two years. It looks almost exactly the same, but everyone inside of it now is very different. Similar but a little bit off.

 

Joe leads him to the kitchen and finds him everything he’ll need to make dinner. Pete studies his face, cataloguing the way his curly hair falls down in tendrils, even though it’s pulled back in a bun.

 

“I know I came here for Patrick, but it’s really good to see you.” Pete says, always the sincere and overtly affectionate one. He’s tempted to drag Joe into a hug, but he isn’t sure if the sentiment would be appreciated.

 

“Yeah. It’s good to see you too. We’ll catch up more after you and him get your shit together, alright?” Joe replies, backing out of the room with a wave. Pete turns back to everything laid out on the counter and gets to work. He’s jittery, wouldn’t be surprised if this spaghetti turned out tasting horrible because he’s so anxious that Patrick might wander into the kitchen.

 

Once he finishes making the food, he starts plating it and carrying it out to put it on the dining room table. Joe stands in the doorframe, looking at him closely in a way that makes him want to squirm.

 

“Smells good. I’ll go get your boy. Try to relax.” Joe gives him a reassuring smile and leaves the room to knock on the guest room door and tell Patrick the food is ready. Pete and Joe eat in silence for a while, and it isn’t until about halfway through the meal that Patrick emerges. He takes a few timid steps into the dining room and slides into the seat across from Pete.

 

Pete’s heart stops in that moment. He’s pretty sure he drops his fork with a loud clang, but he’s too focused on the man in front of him. That’s the weird part. He actually looks like a _man._ It’s not that he wasn’t before, but Pete has always called him kid. Patrick is younger than him, so it’s a nickname he doesn’t intend to drop.

 

Patrick looks soft and rumpled, a crease on his cheek from the pillow and his hair in disarray. God, his hair. It’s lighter than Pete’s ever seen it, and he’s a little surprised by the fact that Patrick would dye his hair at all. It’s getting long, curling at his neck in the back and hanging in his eyes at the front. Pete has always thought Patrick was beautiful, but this is a whole new level of breathtaking.

 

Pete only got a glimpse of his torso and the sweatpants he was wearing, but he can tell he’s lost weight. His face has lost some of the baby fat, angular and smooth. His cheekbones stand out even more than they used to before. Pete doesn’t know if he should be concerned by that or not. It’s possible he decided to lose weight for health reasons, but he has a feeling it’s more to do with Patrick being self deprecating and too critical of his appearance.

 

It’s not that he doesn’t look amazing, because he does. It’s just not what Pete was expecting. He thinks Patrick looks lovely no matter what size he is. He wishes he could get him to believe that about himself. But that’s a conversation for another time. Right now he just needs to focus on not fucking this up.

 

Joe is looking back and forth between them as if he’s watching a riveting ping pong match. Patrick keeps his eyes downcast, firmly on his food as he digs in. Pete is tempted to slide his foot up Patrick’s calf, but he’s sure he’d only get kicked or glared at. Too much too soon.

 

“Whenever I eat this I think of my 21st birthday party. That’s the first time you made it for me and it was just Joe, Andy, you and I. I got so drunk I threw it all back up. But I didn’t really care because it was worth it. Somehow I can still eat it without gagging.” Patrick blurts out, grinning down at his lap. Joe is frozen with his fork halfway to his mouth, staring at Patrick in shock.

 

Pete is flabbergasted that the whole making him food thing is actually causing him be nice instead of furious.

 

“That was a really good night. I felt bad for getting you that drunk. I’m pretty sure I just held your hair for you while you were getting sick and then helped you into bed. You hated me even more when you woke up in the morning with the worst hangover ever.” Pete laughs, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Joe is smiling at them now, going into the kitchen to rinse off his plate and then making his exit.

 

Pete feels the nerves settle in again, sitting alone with Patrick for the first time in so long. He’s kind of shocked Patrick would bring up such a touchy subject, when it comes down to their history. They’ve shared some bad times, but that particular birthday was a light in the sea of darkness. Both of their plates are empty now, and they’re just staring at each other from across the table.

 

“So,” Patrick starts, taking a deep breath. “What are you doing here?” Pete can feel the tension clouding the room again, the air of familiarity dissipating and turning frigid, it feels suddenly like ice is running through his veins. It makes his chest feel heavy, the fact that Patrick doesn’t even know why he’s come crawling back for forgiveness, but he has no idea what he’s done. Has Patrick just gotten sick of him like everyone else?

 

“I wanted to see you.” Pete says, trying to keep the utter hurt and desperation out of his voice. He doesn’t succeed. Patrick narrows his eyes at him, cocking his head and studying him slowly.

 

“Seems like awfully bad timing, if you ask me. Unless you were trying to derail my solo career, or something like that.” Patrick’s voice makes him flinch, accusatory and harsh in the silence of the dining room. Pete raises his knee and threads his hands together over it, trying to remain calm in the face of Patrick’s anger.

 

“Of course not. You know that I want you to be happy, right? And if a solo career is what you want, I’m not going to stop you. In fact, I’d like to help you, if that’s alright.” Pete blurts out, but he can already tell he’s made a mistake by the creasing of Patrick’s forehead.

 

“You helping me kind of defeats the purpose of me doing this all on my own. There has to be a line between the band and me, and I’m drawing it there. I’m already going to be asked enough questions about us once promo starts.” It feels like Patrick has just staked him through the chest. He can’t even say he wants distance between him and Pete, he has to say _the band_ and make this conversation as impersonal and clinical as possible.

 

Pete doesn’t bother responding to what he just said. He doesn’t really want to cry in front of him right now. He decides to switch gears and go for a more direct approach.

 

“Tell me what I did wrong.” Pete states, keeping his voice as flat as possible. Patrick looks at him incredulously.

 

“A lot of things.” Patrick sighs, as if he’s too good to be having this conversation right now and he’d rather be anywhere else. Pete thinks both of those things are true.

 

“Be specific.” Pete replies, trying to keep his death glare at bay. God forbid a guy want some answers.

 

“I don’t know! We were fighting all the time. We needed this break. It feels permanent as far as I’m concerned, and that’s probably for the best. You put so much pressure on me to keep working nonstop, and I couldn’t take it anymore. You know how to push my buttons and that got on my nerves. I couldn’t handle being around you all the time. I felt like I was suffocating and I couldn’t escape.” Patrick rambles, his chest heaving and his face going red and patchy in places. Pete feels like a puppet that’s strings have been cut.

 

“You could’ve told me that before you decided to call everything off and disappear off the face of the earth. I would’ve understood.” Pete deflates, hunching in on himself and refusing to meet Patrick’s eyes.

 

“I didn’t want to tell you. Because I know it’d hurt your feelings, and then you wouldn’t be able to look at me. Sort of like what’s happening right now. I thought it was better to act like nothing was wrong and to keep myself busy.” Patrick sighs, crossing his arms and leaning against the table.

 

“Well it fucking wasn’t. It made me crazy, wondering what I had done to drive you away. I thought you’d gotten sick of me and that you’d never wanna talk to me again.” Pete groans, finally daring to look across the table to meet Patrick’s gaze. He finds sympathy there, and a warmth he hasn’t seen in so long it makes his fingers tingle.

 

“No. I could never leave you behind for good. I just needed time to myself. I wanted to do things my way for once. It wasn’t just you. It was the circumstances. I know you can’t help it. That’s just who you are, and I get that. I always admired you for being yourself no matter what.” Patrick replies, looking for all the world like a big weight has been lifted off his chest. His face even looks softer, as if he could break out into a smile at any moment. His eyes are also suspiciously watery.

 

“Please never do that to me again. I was losing my fucking mind.” Pete whispers, and he’s just about ready to lunge across the table for an awkward hug. Patrick seems to read his mind because he gets up and circles around the corner of the table and drags his feet as he approaches Pete and leans down to wrap his arms around his waist and bury his face in Pete’s neck.

 

Pete squeezes him tight, having a hard time believing this is really happening. He smells just like he always does, a bit like his favorite strawberry shampoo and cinnamon gum. If Pete has to wipe a few discreet tears away after he pulls back, no one mentions it.

 

“I’m sorry. I should’ve known you’d be all in your head about this. I could’ve at least called you back.” Patrick sighs, running a hand through his hair and making it stick up even more than before. Pete is hopelessly enamored with him.

 

“I’ll get over it. Feel free to still be mad at me for awhile. But I’m here for the weekend so….maybe we can be civil and you can show me some of your new stuff?” Pete asks, unable to hide the hopeful tone to his voice. Patrick’s smile is like watching the sun break out from behind the clouds. Bright and iridescent. Pete is most definitely unworthy of this man.

 

“I’d like that.”

 

xxx

 

They end up huddled together on the guest bed, pressed up against one another from thigh to shoulder. Patrick got out his laptop and is playing him the songs he’s recorded so far, blush high on his cheeks as he explains some tweaks he wants to make, that this is just the rough cut. Pete always knew he was a perfectionist, but there’s no need to defend what this album is shaping up to be. It’s brilliant, just like him.

 

“It’s really good. Don’t stress about it so much. Will you play me a snippet of one of the songs you haven’t recorded yet?” Pete pleads, sticking out his lower lip because he knows Patrick’s a sucker and he can’t say no.

 

“Fine. But just one. Pick a track title from the list of incomplete songs.” Patrick sighs as if he’s put upon, but Pete can see his mouth turning up at the corners. He gets up to grab his guitar and digs a pick out of his pocket before sitting down next to Pete and turning to face him. He slides the strap over his head and waits for Pete to choose.

 

Pete lets his finger slide down the crumpled paper, closing his eyes and waiting to see what he lands on. _Run Dry (X Heart X Fingers)._ Pete doesn’t really know what to expect, but as soon as Patrick starts singing his heart pounds against his chest in a staccato rhythm and his mouth feels like cotton. It’s a fairly normal reaction whenever he hears Patrick sing something for the first time.

 

_They say everything in moderation but I’ll drink you under the table / I’m not just drunk, I really think I’m in love with you baby_

 

As soon as Patrick finishes and looks up from his guitar Pete is speechless. Patrick raises his eyebrows at him but he can’t get any words to come out of his mouth and he really wants to lean forwards and kiss him. But he can’t do that.

 

He has to restrain himself because he can’t make this anymore fucking complicated than it already is. He can’t dare to jeopardize it when he’s finally got it back. It’s good enough. It has to be.

 

“You finally sound like yourself. A proper eighties nerd.” Pete tries to joke, but he sounds strained even to his own ears. If Patrick expected him to comment on the subject matter of the song, he doesn’t show it on his face. He just grins and shoves Pete in the shoulder like he always does.

 

Pete drags himself down to the living room to sleep on the couch at around 1AM, after he’s spent hours talking to Patrick about his music and total nonsense. It feels a lot like the old writing sessions they used to have, except Pete did a lot more listening than talking. He smiles to himself as he takes off his jeans, collapses on the couch, and pulls the knitted blanket over his head. He falls asleep easily for the first time in a long time.

 

The weekend is full of a lot of catching up, along with helping Patrick schedule stuff for his tour and his music video shoot. Pete doesn’t have room to complain when Patrick is being so nice to him, open and bubbly just like before. It feels as if everything is falling back into place. They have yet to talk about the future of the band, but Pete thinks he shouldn’t push it and he’ll save the conversation for after Patrick is done with his solo tour.

 

Pete still feels like he’s walking on eggshells, so he treads carefully with what he says. (More aptly, what he _doesn’t_ say). Joe circles around them a bit like a hawk, adding in his two cents when he feels it’s necessary. He’s always observing them, shooting Pete an encouraging smile over Patrick’s shoulder and making them lunch. Pete is incredibly tempted to call Joe their maid, but. He doesn’t actually want to get kicked out of his house.

 

He leaves on Monday morning with a long, tight hug in the doorway and a promise from Patrick to send him a ticket to his first show. Pete also makes him promise to at least text him back.

 

xxx

 

Getting back into the swing of things in LA is a hard pill to swallow after the frankly heavenly weekend he’s had, but he forces himself to stay as busy as possible in order to ignore the phantom ache that’s settled permanently in his chest. He always feels off balance when Patrick isn’t tucked under his arm. That can’t be healthy. Pete has always been too codependent for his own good.

 

But he goes about his days like he normally would, feeds his dog, has a few business calls, goes to an event, orders take out, writes a lyric in his tattered notebook, drinks a lot of coffee and doesn’t sleep much. Rinse and repeat.

 

It’s been radio silence from Joe and Andy, so Patrick must’ve given them the all clear. Pete thinks it’s a little too soon to call them back to normal, but maybe that’s just his tendency of knowing he’s gonna fuck it up somewhere down the line.

 

Before he knows it, it’s October and _Soul Punk_ makes it’s sparkling debut. It gets a lot of great feedback from the critics, but the fans seem to be bitter and critical. The sales start to tank by week two, and Pete feels his heart go down with them. He has a desperate need to reassure Patrick, but he doesn’t know what he can do to make this all better. He has a feeling Patrick won’t take his calls, so he’s gonna have to head over the night before the first show of the tour and try to convince him that it’ll all work out fine.

 

Pete likes surprises, so he doesn’t give a warning when he flies in and lands on Patrick’s doorstep with all of his stuff. He tries to give Patrick his award winning smile when he opens the door, but he practically slams it in his face. Pete manages to wedge his foot in it before it can close.

 

“Goddamn it, Pat. Let me in. I’m here to cheer you up.” Pete goads, in the most saccharine voice he can manage.

 

“Calling me by a nickname that I hate really isn’t helping your case, asshole.” Patrick grunts, pushing the door into him with all his weight.

 

“Jesus, what the fuck have you been _eating?_ ” Pete hisses, shoving his shoulder into the door as hard as he can and finally shoving Patrick away in the process. He slides through the gap with his bag dragging behind him, and turns the lock before turning to face Patrick.

 

“I don’t need you here to check up on me, or _pity_ me, or whatever the fuck it is you’re here for.” Patrick fumes, arms crossed over his chest and his face beet red.

 

“I’m here because I love you, dickhead. And I want to make you feel better. You’ve got your first show tomorrow. It’s exciting! Lighten up, or I’ll make you.” Pete knocks Patrick’s hat off his head in order to mess up his hair. Patrick grips his wrist tightly, and he does not look amused in the slightest.

 

“Fuck off.” Patrick nose scrunches up at him as he twists out of his grasp and sets the trucker hat on the coffee table.

 

“Afraid I can’t do that. What kind of friend would I be?” Pete asks, walking around Patrick’s house and rearranging his knick knacks because he has to do something with his hands.

 

“The kind that actually listens.” Patrick replies, rolling his eyes and plopping onto the couch in a clear indication of defeat.

 

“Have you met me?” Pete snorts, sitting down next to him and putting the hat on his own head, pulling the brim down so his fringe hangs in his eyes even more than usual.

 

“That’s sort of the problem.” Patrick grumbles, glaring at him petulantly.

 

“Must you _always_ be so grumpy? Don’t answer that, it was a rhetorical question.” Pete sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face and unzipping his jacket. It’s too warm, the heat must be cranked up now that it’s nearly November.

 

“You came here to give me a pep talk. Might as well get it over with.” Patrick says, sinking into the cushions. He looks tired. Pete wants to run him a bath and give him a warm glass of milk, or something. Is this what it’s like to have a nurturing instinct?

 

“I’m not just here for a pep talk. I’m here all the time. Whenever you say jump, I say ‘how high?’” Pete replies, easy and earnest as ever.

 

“That’s not really true. I don’t ask you for much of anything. You offer me help that I usually refuse.” Patrick snorts, shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

 

“Fine. But I always get you to cave, so there’s no point fighting it. What I’m trying to say is you know I’d do anything for you to be happy. You deserve it.” Pete smiles at him, trying to be encouraging in his sincerity. Patrick’s eyebrows furrow as he makes a noncommittal noise, ready to protest. Pete doesn’t let him.

 

“I really wish you’d stop with this self-deprecating, insecure bullshit. I’m the one who is supposed to be depressed and overdramatic all the time, not you. I won’t let you be like me. I’d give anything if I could make you see yourself how I do.” Pete scoots as close to him as possible, until their sides are pressed together and he can feel Patrick’s body heat.

 

“How do you see me?” Patrick asks, his voice timid. He looks like he’s searching Pete’s face for something.

 

“I’m surprised you don’t already know. I’m not good at subtlety, but apparently everything I say people take as a joke.” Pete frowns. He’s lost count on how many times he’s complimented Patrick over the years and got a blush and a middle finger in his face in response.

 

“To be fair, you’re hardly ever serious.” Patrick murmurs, but his lips are quirking up into a tentative smile.

 

“I’m serious about you. I always have been. You’re like….everything I’ve ever wanted to be.” Pete admits, staring down at his lap and twining his fingers together nervously.

 

“What do you mean?” Patrick sounds confused. Pete can’t believe he’s actually about to say any of this out loud. Laying it all on the table seems like a dangerous idea. But this is what he needs to hear.

 

“You’re golden. Everything about you. You’re the definition of rockstar. Pretty and talented like nobody’s business. You’ve got the biggest heart and you’re so fucking smart. I don’t want you to change anything about yourself for anyone else. Only do it if it’s for you.” Pete doesn’t dare look at him once he finishes speaking, squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath.

 

“I really wish I could believe that about myself. But you know that I can’t. Thank you for being here and giving me all those wonderful compliments. I just thought this conversation was about the album, not me.” Patrick sighs, the blush high on his cheeks. He shoves his hat off Pete’s head and throws it on the floor. One of the dogs pads into the room and starts sniffing it curiously. Pete can’t even find it in himself to react.

 

He turns his body to face Patrick head on and grabs his hands in his own.

 

“The album is fucking amazing. It’s a part of you. You should be proud of it. As far as I’m concerned, everything is about you.” Pete says. Apparently his filter has gone out the window for the night. He feels drunk with it. The power of the truth. Maybe it really can set him free. He just can’t get in over his head here.

 

“I think I realized that a decade ago. At least in Pete world everything is about me. It’s a little creepy, if I’m being honest.” Patrick beams at him. Pete lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, relieved.

 

“I’m glad you’re not completely oblivious. So, just to recap: The album is wonderful and so are you. Fuck what anyone else thinks. You’ve got a show tomorrow. And you’re gonna fucking smash it.” Pete gives in to the temptation to lean forwards and press a kiss to his cheek.

 

Patrick blinks at him, completely unfazed and far too used to Pete’s displays of affection.

 

“If you say so, Petey.” Patrick sounds like he’s trying to placate him, but it seems like a weight has been lifted off his chest and his smile is here to stay. Pete has missed him far too much. More than he’d like to admit.

 

“You know I’m right.” Pete replies, feeling incredibly smug. Patrick rolls his eyes at him and untangles their fingers, but leans into Pete nonetheless.

 

“You’re usually wrong, but I trust you anyway.”

 

xxx

 

Pete is backstage, waiting in the wings as Patrick practices his vocal warm ups. He’s being more of a nuisance than anything, but he’s jittery and he can’t help it. He’s probably more nervous than Patrick is, which might be a new record.

 

Patrick looks a bit clammy and green in the face, but Pete has made him laugh so hard a few times while he was drinking and caused water to come out of his nose. He’s proud of himself, really. Even though it feels like Patrick is babysitting him. That’s sort of the definition of their entire relationship.

 

Patrick eventually gets annoyed enough by his antics to excuse himself to change into his stage clothes. Pete lays back on the couch and waits, bored out of his mind and too anxious to focus on much of anything. His phone is useless to him right now, even if he wanted to go on Twitter. No one is supposed to know he’s here.

 

Pete loses his breath when Patrick walks back into the room. More than usual, which is a feat in itself.

 

Pete didn’t get a say in helping Patrick pick his tour outfits, but that’s not all that surprising. Patrick trusts him with a lot of things, but fashion is not one of them. Pete is _not_ complaining about what he is seeing. He’s practically convinced Patrick has walked directly out of one of his wet dreams. Did he fall asleep on the couch?

 

Pete is pretty sure he’s staring, and his mouth is most definitely hanging open, but he really can’t help it. Patrick is standing in front of the mirror fixing his bow tie. He’s positive Patrick can see Pete roving over his form in the mirror, but he can’t seem to get himself in check.

 

He traces his eyes over the tight black pants he’s wearing and his eyes linger on his ass. He’s human, can you blame him? He watches Patrick roll out his shoulders and the muscles in his back twitch under the suit jacket. Pete is really tempted to offer to help him button it up. He’d rather Patrick not put on more clothes, but he looks damn good in them. Plus, he’ll use any excuse to get close to him.

 

Patrick turns to face him and he takes in the milky expanse of his neck, the way the lights hit his cheekbones perfectly, his artfully messy hair. He’s starting to feel lightheaded with all the possibilities running through his mind that he can absolutely _not_ act on. His eyes finally settle on the black fingerless gloves on Patrick’s hands, elegant and strong looking as ever. God, he just wants to fall to his knees so badly right now.

 

Instead, he sits up on the couch and tries to discreetly cross his legs, but clearly his pair of leather pants was a bad choice for the night. He’s definitely starting to sweat and his thighs are totally chafing. They also do nothing to hide the fact that he’s half hard, but he hopes Patrick somehow doesn’t notice. The silence has stretched out too long between them, as if Patrick is sizing him up and trying to gauge his reaction, and what move he should make next.

 

“How do I look?” Patrick asks, nervously fixing the cuffs of his sleeves and not looking Pete in the eye. He has to be joking. Did he not just see Pete stare at him like a creep for a solid five minutes there? His brain helpfully supplies him with a reply he can’t bear to speak out loud: _Like sin._

 

“You look,” Pete swallows hard, trying to find his footing. He’s used to complimenting Patrick, this should be easy. “Fucking stunning.” He never said his compliments were particularly platonic.

 

Patrick tilts his head and narrows his eyes at him, but then he proceeds to blush and duck his chin down towards his chest like usual. Pete beams up at him, glad the weird tension in the air seems to have dissipated. He’ll never get tired of making Patrick blush. Once he finally feels it’s safe to get up and his dick will behave, he stands behind Patrick and turns him to face the mirror so he can see them both. He grips his shoulders tightly and shakes him a little.

 

“Are you ready to knock ‘em dead?” Pete can’t help but laugh at the grimace Patrick does in response.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t say it like that.” Patrick sighs, but he can’t hide that smile from Pete if he tried.

 

“Death is my muse.” Pete croons dramatically, tucking his chin over Patrick’s shoulder and swaying them back and forth.

 

“Could’ve fooled me.” Patrick murmurs under his breath. Pete thinks he wasn’t supposed to hear it, but he definitely did.

 

“What did you think it was?” Pete grins at him, all teeth as he raises his eyebrows. He wonders if he’s really that obvious.

 

“Nothing.” Patrick grumbles, pulling out of his arms and starting to button up his jacket. Pete decides to let it go, mainly because he doesn’t feel like spilling his guts again quite so soon. Not unless Patrick does it first. It feels like a very dangerous precipice they’re balancing on right now.

 

Before Pete can say anything more, one of the stage techs strides up to Patrick and hands him his inner ear piece and his mic. He can hear Patrick thank the man, his voice soft and shaky again. They’ve got five minutes before he has to go out there and open for Panic! Pete gives a fleeting thought to wondering where Brendon is before he’s pulling Patrick into a bear hug.

 

Patrick whines at him, but he returns the hug nonetheless. Pete kisses him on the cheek, wet and sloppy, before he lets him go. He shoves him towards the side of the stage and gives him a thumbs up. Patrick rolls his eyes and blows him a sarcastic kiss before he turns on his heel and walks out onto the stage.

 

He only plays a half hour set that consists of four songs and a bit of banter between each, but god fucking damn it is he charming. Pete is practically swooning. The crowd loves him like they always do, even if they did show up for Panic!

 

Pete briefly thinks that it’s possible Patrick has been replaced by a siren. That or he’s been spending time with Gerard without Pete knowing, because suddenly he has the sex kitten routine down. His performances consist of a lot of hip thrusting, grinding against the mic stand, running his hands through his hair. His voice is low and gravelly and more perfect than Pete remembers.

 

When they were on tour together, it had never felt this unbearable. Pete could focus on his bass and hyping up the crowd and Patrick generally didn’t do more than a shimmy and maybe some jumping or skipping around the stage. But now he has nothing but eyes for Patrick and he can’t stand it.

 

Patrick comes off the stage buzzing, full of adrenaline and exhilaration that only a performance can provide. Pete longs for the feeling again, a crowd singing his words back to him and screaming his name. He’s insanely jealous, but he has to keep his behavior in check tonight.

 

Patrick is bouncing on the balls of his feet, smiling uncontrollably, and there’s sweat dripping down his face and it’s soaking the collar of his white button up. Pete stares at him as he shrugs off his suit jacket and runs a hand through his hair, his pupils dilated so big he looks like he’s taken something.

 

“Was it everything you dreamed it’d be? You look happy.” Pete says, trying to stop his thoughts from running rampant with wildly inappropriate fantasies.

 

“It was crazy. I missed it so much. This one girl screamed something at me about _Blue Rabbits_ and I wanted to laugh so fucking bad.” Patrick grins at him as he undoes his bowtie.

 

“You can’t blame her, really. That song was pretty uncalled for.” Pete replies, letting out his signature braying laugh.

 

“I thought it was hilarious. Besides, I didn’t think anyone would realize it was me.” Patrick shrugs, taking several gulps out of his water bottle and collapsing next to Pete on the couch.

 

“Yeah, because your voice is _so_ unrecognizable.” Pete deadpans. Patrick punches him in the arm.

 

“Fair point. I just didn’t think anyone would care.” Patrick sighs, tilting his head back to stare at the ceiling. Pete has the urge to slap him across the face suddenly.

 

“Shut the fuck up. Of course they care. They love you.” Pete says it fiercely, like that will make Patrick believe it. Patrick puts his hands up in a clear indication of surrender.

 

“Sorry. I’ll stop upsetting you with my self deprecation now.” Patrick giggles.

 

“Damn right you will. No offending my delicate sensibilities.” Pete pokes him in the chest to really drive the point home.

 

“Sure. Anyways, the after party celebration is being held at the bar down the road. Brendon and Dallon are gonna meet us down there after the concert.” Patrick stands up fluidly, still jumpy and covered in a thin layer of sweat. Pete stands up and throws his arm over Patrick’s shoulders.

 

“Let’s go, Trickster. Your party awaits.”

 

xxx

 

Patrick doesn’t stay by his side for long. He’s waltzing around the bar with a brightly colored cocktail in hand, flitting from person to person and being his charismatic self. Pete really does enjoy watching him work the room, he just wishes Patrick would lay off the booze.

 

Pete is leaned against the bar, just staring at him. He’s so bright and loud, happier than he’s been in a while. His movements are self assured and graceful, and Pete thinks he deserves to feel this confident all the time.

 

Pete has a beer sweating in his grip, because he’s reluctant to drink too much and forget any detail from this night.

 

He has a flight to catch back to LA in the morning, but he’ll be going home with Patrick tonight. By the looks of things, it might be a few hours till Patrick is ready to go. He’s an insanely happy drunk, and that seems to translate to party animal.

 

It also usually means drunken karaoke once he’s past the point of no return. Pete hopes it doesn’t get that far, but he can’t tell Patrick what to do anymore. He isn’t his mother. It used to be the other way around, but Pete is finally starting to feel like his age. (That’s a lie. He deemed himself Peter Pan a long time ago, totally unironically).

 

An hour later Patrick seems to materialize right before Pete’s eyes, empty glass in hand. His blue eyes look bigger up close than they did earlier in the night. He places a hand on Pete’s shoulder in greeting, but he doesn’t draw back. He leans into Pete’s body, pressing them together from arms to thighs.

 

Pete stares at him, jaw slack as Patrick calls over the bartender and orders another cocktail. Patrick turns to meet his gaze and grins, sliding his hand from Pete’s shoulder until he can grip him beneath the chin.

 

“Shut your mouth, sailor. You’ll catch flies.” Pete feels Patrick slink away from him, belatedly realizing he’s still wearing the gloves as the leather scrapes against his stubble when he flounces off. Did Patrick just call him _sailor?_ This has to be a fucking dream. Pete is tempted to slap himself across the face just to be sure.

 

Pete is brought out of his own thoughts by Dallon showing up and practically tackling him into a hug. He pats him on the back and they discuss music, but the rest of the conversation seems to devolve into drunken nonsense on Dallon’s part. He’s quite entertained.

 

Not enough to miss what’s happening on the dance floor in his peripheral, though. The dance floor is practically empty tonight, most people preferring to sit on stools at the bar or stay in the comfort of their own booth. It’s a pretty old fashioned place with a jukebox in the corner, and he thinks that’s why Patrick loves it so much.

 

But what he’s seeing now is so much worse than drunken karaoke. He can’t seem to tear his eyes away from Brendon draped all over Patrick, even when Dallon pokes him in the chest and tries to get his attention.

 

Pete has been wondering what Brendon’s been up to all night, and it turns out it’s trouble. If you know him that’s not all that surprising. This would typically be something they’d do together, but apparently Brendon has decided he wants Patrick for himself and he’s got incredibly handsy.

 

Pete had always suspected Brendon’s adolescent crush on Patrick had never quite gone away, and this just confirms it. It’s not like Pete can blame him, all things considered. But they’ve had this conversation before. For all intents and purposes, Brendon knows Patrick is off limits. Hell, the aliens probably know.

 

Pete sets his beer down on the bar and clenches his fists, his vision flashing red with rage. He can see Dallon take a step back from him, looking alarmed.

 

He won’t ruin Patrick’s party. At least not with a fist fight. He hasn’t gotten into one of those in years. He can control himself.

 

“Whoa, man. You alright?” Dallon asks, clearly concerned even when he’s absolutely smashed.

 

“I will be. Give me a second. I’m trying not to go all _Incredible Hulk_ right now.” Pete gets out, clenching his jaw as he watches Brendon wrap his arms around Patrick’s neck and push their hips together.

 

God, Pete is going to kill Brendon. He knows he shouldn’t interfere, but his blood is boiling and he has to do something. The issue with this situation is that Patrick is too polite for his own good. He hates hurting people’s feelings, has a hard time rejecting them. But the most important thing to remember is that he’s oblivious to when people want him.

 

Pete can tell Patrick doesn’t know what Brendon’s intentions for the night are. Patrick has never been one to assume that anyone could possibly have a crush on him. It’s just not in his nature.

 

For a smart man, he can be really naive sometimes. But that’s probably for the best. Maybe Pete can make it out of this relatively unscathed.

 

“Here’s the plan. If I don’t come back within five minutes, come collect your bandmate. Got it?” This is the sort of thing Pete would often ask Spencer to do, but he’s pretty sure he’s not here tonight and that’s probably for the best.

 

This is always how it’s been with him and Brendon. Partners in crime or at each other’s throats. Nothing in between. They’re eerily similar in a way that makes them clash horribly more often than not. But Brendon has talent, and Pete is glad he got him signed. He just wishes Brendon would stop sticking his nose where it doesn’t belong.

 

Dallon nods, a little off kilter, but he grips the edge of the bar and jerks his chin towards the dance floor. Pete has to take a deep breath and contain himself. Brendon is flush with Patrick’s back, arms around his waist and his nose tucked into the nape of Patrick’s neck. That’s about all Pete can take tonight.

 

He makes his way through a small crowd of people and taps Brendon on the arm. He places his hands on his hips, trying to keep his stance playful even though his face clearly shows how furious he is.

 

Patrick has his head thrown back as he laughs, but he must feel Brendon go still because he turns around to face Pete and there’s a flash of something there he can’t quite decipher. Brendon looks like a deer caught in the headlights. Good. He should feel fucking guilty.

 

“Hey, B. Fancy meeting you here. Would you mind if I cut in?” Pete smiles widely, displaying his teeth as if he’s ready to tear someone’s throat out. Brendon is lucky Pete doesn’t let his impulses control him anymore. Otherwise he’d probably have a black eye by now.

 

Patrick has his hands on Brendon’s chest, and he’s shooting Pete a glare. Patrick stomps his foot petulantly.

 

“But we were having fun!” Patrick whines, sticking out his lower lip in a pretty little pout. Pete wants so badly to rip Patrick out of Brendon’s arms.

 

“Sorry, Petey. But this is Patrick’s special night, which means he gets whatever he wants.” Brendon says, all nervous laughter and fake bravado. Pete can see right fucking through him. If he wants Pete to do this the hard way, then so be it.

 

“Do you wanna tell him, or should I?” Pete snickers, batting his eyelashes.

 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.” Brendon is playing innocent. That’s a big mistake.

 

“Tell me what?” Patrick demands, all furrowed eyebrows and flushed cheeks.

 

“He’s trying to get in your pants.” Pete shrugs, going for blunt and hitting the mark almost too perfectly. Patrick opens his mouth but nothing comes out. He looks taken aback. Pete has to stop himself from grinning devilishly.

 

Brendon seems torn between glaring at him and trying to make up excuses to tell Patrick. Finally, Brendon seems to collect himself, straightening his shoulders and taking a step towards Pete.

 

“Like you’re any b-“ Before any real damage can be done, Dallon swoops in and threads an arm through Brendon’s, ruffling his hair and offering him a drink. Did Pete mention Dallon’s a saint? Brendon heads to the bar with him, but he shoots Pete a calculated look over his shoulder.

 

“What the fuck was that?” Patrick hisses, grabbing onto his bicep and digging his fingernails into fabric more than anything else. Pete has never seen him drunk and angry at the same time. It’s not that intimidating considering he looks like a grumpy kitten, but Pete’s fear stems from fucking up their friendship yet again.

 

“I was looking out for you. I didn’t want him to take advantage of you while you were drunk.” Pete huffs, pulling out of Patrick’s grip and crossing his arms over his chest.

 

“I don’t need your help. I’m a big boy, and I can fucking handle it.” Patrick snarls, and then he turns on his heel and walks out of the bar. Pete can see a lot of people staring at him, but he couldn’t care less right now. He runs after Patrick, out into the cold air to stand by the curb next to him.

 

It’s freezing outside and Patrick forgot his jacket, like an idiot. Pete bites his lip, watching as Patrick shivers and brings his phone up to his ear. He must be calling a cab. He doesn’t give it much thought before he’s unzipping his hoodie and sliding it over Patrick’s shoulders.

 

Patrick scrunches up his nose at him, but doesn’t protest as he slides the hoodie on properly and zips it up. Pete has always had a weak spot for Patrick in his clothes.

 

“I’m sorry,” Pete starts, because he sucks at apologies and he doesn’t want this night to be completely ruined.

 

“I don’t think that you can’t take care of yourself. I just wanted you to know what his intentions were. I know it’s a little confusing because he’s your friend, but I was just trying to protect you.” He sighs, rubbing his arms as he starts to shake with the bite in the air. It’s Chicago, he’s lucky it isn’t snowing.

 

“What aren’t you telling me?” Patrick is squinting at him in the dim streetlight. He knows Pete too well.

 

“Nothing to tell.” Pete avoids Patrick’s eyes, because he knows that will make him crack. He stuffs his hands in his pockets to keep them warm.

 

“I wish you’d stop lying to me.” Patrick groans, frustrated beyond belief.

 

“ _The truth hurts worse than anything I could bring myself to do to you.”_ Pete murmurs, quoting the words of his past self.

 

“Cut the poetic bullshit. What are you so afraid of?” Patrick rolls his eyes, but his voice is oddly gentle.

 

“I’m afraid that I’ll fuck up what we have, and you’ll leave. For good this time.” Pete blurts it out, his heart pounding against his rib cage so hard it feels like it might come out of his chest.

 

“Leave what? The band? Leave _you?”_ Patrick seems to understand as soon as the last word rolls off his tongue. His face falls, and he looks utterly crushed.

 

“Both.” Pete says, even though it’s obvious Patrick has already figured it out, even with his hazy drunk mind.

 

“Pete. Listen to me. I’m not leaving you. No matter what you have to say to me. I promised you I wouldn’t. I keep my promises.” Patrick says it fiercely, even if his words run a little too close together and he’s swaying on his feet.

 

Pete smiles at him weakly, and shakes his head.

 

“You don’t know what I’m gonna say.”

 

Patrick laughs at him, loud and clear in the bustle of the street as cars go by and people exit the bar behind them.

 

“I don’t care what it is. You could tell me you’re from Planet Krypton and I’d say ‘That’s fucking awesome, man! Can you fly?’” Patrick is grinning at him, so close he can feel his breath on his face. God, he’s a fucking dork. Pete is so in love with him.

 

“If anyone is Clark Kent here, it’s you.” Pete says it without even thinking about it. Patrick takes a breath, really turning the words over in his mind before he speaks.

 

That in itself is proof of how different they are. Even when he’s drunk, Patrick is thoughtful and considerate. He could never be anything less.

 

“I hope that makes you my Lois Lane.” Patrick bites his lip nervously after he says it, awaiting Pete’s reaction.

 

Pete inhales sharply, practically choking on his own spit. If he thought his heart was pounding before, now he can hear the blood rushing in his ears.

 

The universe seems to think this conversation is over for the night, because before he can muster a reply ( _What does he even say to something like that?_ ) the cab shows up and the driver impatiently honks his horn.

 

They both get into the car and Patrick gives the driver the money and his address, and then they’re off. Patrick cuddles into his side, which is out of the ordinary. Usually it’s the other way around. But maybe this is his way of repaying Pete for letting him borrow the hoodie.

 

Or maybe it’s something else. His chest constricts at the thought. _Just tell him, Wentz. Stop being a goddamn coward._

 

xxx

 

Pete leads the way inside, an arm around Patrick’s waist as he guides him on unsteady legs. He smells like stale sweat and alcohol, but he’s unbearably lovely when he’s tipsy. It’s almost as if he’s reverted back into a little boy, because as soon as he’s through the door he plops down on the ground with his legs spread wide and starts to try to pull off his shoes.

 

Pete laughs, looking down at Patrick frowning as he fails at getting the fancy dress shoes off his feet.

 

“Here, boozy. I’ll help you.” Pete squats down so he’s level with Patrick, and starts to undo the laces. He can feel Patrick’s gaze burning into the side of his face, but he doesn’t look up as his hair falls in his eyes as he pulls off one shoe, and then starts in on the other.

 

“Please tell me what’s wrong. You seem so sad lately. I hate it.” Patrick pleads, playing with the strings of the hoodie nervously.

 

Pete’s taken aback by Patrick being so direct with him. He thought this conversation was over for the night. He thought it was safe to let his guard down. Pete puts Patrick’s shoes by the door and helps him stand up.

 

“I’m sorry. It’s complicated.” Pete sighs, walking Patrick to his bedroom door and forcing himself to stop in the hallway.

 

“It doesn’t have to be. It won’t be the end of the world if you tell me what’s going on.” Patrick bites his lip, and slides the zipper down so the hoodie is open over his white button-up. He looks a lot disheveled and a little defeated. Pete’s going to cave. He feels bad and he’s going to tell the truth and it will probably ruin everything.

 

“Okay. You should probably sit down first.” Pete exhales shakily, and follows Patrick so they can sit on the end of the bed together. Pete can spot the rumpled sheets and the piles of clothes on the floor and he smiles, despite himself. This man is so endearing, even when he’s incredibly messy.

 

The timing of this doesn’t feel quite right. Patrick isn’t sober and Pete is still a little angry, at Brendon but also at himself. It’s late and he has to leave in the morning. But none of that matters. He doesn’t care because Patrick deserves to know. The future of the band comes second to the future of _them_.

 

Pete is hardly ever rendered speechless, but it feels like his precious words are failing him right now. He turns until their knees are pressed together, and leans in close so he can look Patrick in the eyes when he does this. It’s time to be brave.

 

“I know I’ve made so many mistakes. And you’ve given me too many second chances to fucking count. I hope I’m not about to screw this up beyond repair. Because what you and I have is….it’s everything. I am so in love with you that it hurts.” Pete squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t bare to see the look on Patrick’s face yet. He’s expecting rejection. Maybe even a punch to the jaw.

 

He hears the sharp intake of Patrick’s breath, feels him shift on the bed before there’s a gentle hand trailing over his cheekbone. He opens his eyes, and brown meets blue. Pete can feel the hope in his chest blossom like flowers.

 

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” Patrick whispers, the look on his face full of nothing but awe and reverence.

 

“I thought you knew. God, Joe and Andy never let me live it down. I don’t know how you didn’t figure it out. Even the fans know. I was so smitten, I was positive it was written all over my face.” Pete hides his face in his hands out of sheer embarrassment.

 

“I thought that it was just….theatrics. That you treated everyone that way.” Patrick replies, voice timid and blush high on his cheeks.

 

“No,” Pete shakes his head. “You’ve always been my golden boy. I couldn’t keep my hands off of you. I was always flirting with you, complimenting you. Admiring you. It was like I could never control myself around you, so I’d make a joke out of it.”

 

“I never thought you meant it. You were always the older, hotter boy. Definitely out of my league. Next to you I felt like a nobody. Like I was nothing special and you told me that I was so I’d stay.” Patrick frowns down at his lap, his fingers twisting together. He’s breaking Pete’s heart, but not in the way he thought he would.

 

“Don’t say that, Trick. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’d be a fucking nobody without you. You are the special one. You always have been. I mean that. I was just...an attention whore.” Pete spits, disgusted with his behavior and the way he had made Patrick feel.

 

“You were never an attention whore. You deserve the spotlight. You fucking earned it, all on your own. Long before I came along. I was only a kid. You’re a force to be reckoned with.” Before Pete can protest, Patrick is wrapping his arms around him and pulling him into a bone crushing hug. It isn’t what he expected, but the embrace is warm and comforting.

 

“You’re giving me mixed signals here.” Pete murmurs into Patrick’s shoulder. Patrick pulls back to give him an exasperatedly fond look.

 

“Peter,” Patrick tries to scold him, but he’s smiling too widely for it to seem stern. “You’re such an idiot.” Pete blinks, at the statement but also at the use of his full name. He must be having a stroke. Before he can speak, Patrick is kissing him.

 

Pete practically flinches, but manages to lean into it and try to relax his shoulders. Patrick is kissing him. For real. On the mouth. He’s had dreams about this moment. He might as well enjoy it.

 

Patrick licks at the seam of his lips, and Pete opens his mouth and melts into it. Pete thought he was the king of making out but he has nothing on Patrick and his lush lips. Seriously, he has the mouth of a pornstar. No wonder Pete can never control himself.

 

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Are you...sure about this?” It pains Pete to disconnect their lips, but he has to be sure he knows what’s going on here. It seems a little too good to be true. He can’t stop staring at his swollen, red mouth.

 

“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything.” Patrick smiles up at him bashfully. Pete puts a hand on Patrick’s chest when he leans in to kiss him again.

 

“You’re drunk, Pattycakes. I’m a gentleman. I don’t take advantage of people. You’re not that kind of boy.”

 

“It’s been awhile. I’m tipsy at most. I’ll be any kind of boy you want me to be.” Patrick grins at him wolfishly, and the tone of his voice sends a spike of arousal down his spine. He’d be really fucking stupid to pass up this opportunity. Too bad he never claimed to be smart.

 

“I’m sorry, I can’t sleep with you tonight in good conscience. In the morning, if you still want to, tell me then. I’m gonna go set up camp in the guest room, okay?” Pete places another peck on his lips and stands up from the bed. Patrick grips his wrist before he can get far.

 

“Stay in here with me, please? Just to sleep. I swear.” Patrick pleads. Pete turns around and narrows his eyes at him. Charming little bastard.

 

“Fine. But no funny business, mister.” Pete sighs, trying to sound put upon as he slides the leather pants down his thighs and climbs into the bed. Patrick stares at him in shock, and Pete feels incredibly smug.

 

“You want to torture me, don’t you?” Patrick grumbles as he pulls the gloves off his hands and proceeds to take off the hoodie and unbutton his shirt.

 

“You shouldn’t get in bed with the devil.” Pete shrugs, and watches intently as Patrick pulls his dress pants off and puts Pete’s hoodie back on, zipping it up to the top. Pete frowns at the lack of skin, but he supposes Patrick in his boxers makes up for that plenty. Besides, he’s trying to be good for once in his life.

 

“I didn’t realize the devil wore eyeliner and girl’s jeans.” Patrick retorts, sliding under the blanket and curling himself into Pete’s side. He’s so warm he might as well be a furnace. Pete kicks him in the shin with his cold toes.

 

“This devil is non conforming to gender stereotypes. Shut your pretty mouth and go to sleep.”


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back!! happy new year (and mania month). i hope you enjoy the second installment of this. feel free to give me feedback or prompts! i'm always up for writing more peterick. in fact pete posting about tennis so much in the past year or two is really tempting me to write a tennis au. let me know if you guys would want that? come visit me on tumblr and cry about fob or soul punk idk @gothicpete
> 
> love y'all xoxo
> 
> p.s for reference: here's some links to the beauty that is patrick performing soul punk songs live as well as let's get it on, even if you've seen them....watch them again with this fic and get the full experience [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PM3-OejoLk4) [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZUq18ag8bQM) [(x)](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8915PYJ3b3g)

Pete wakes up first, because he always has. It’s easier to sleep when he’s with Patrick, like his own personal stuffed animal. But not even he can cure Pete’s insomniac tendencies entirely.  Patrick on the other hand sleeps like the dead and has to be dragged out of bed more times than not. Pete usually goes for the jumping on the mattress and tickling him approach. Even if it usually ends with a knee to the crotch.

 

He doesn’t wake him up this time. It’s still early and the light coming through the curtains is making Patrick’s hair shine even more golden than usual. He looks peaceful this way, younger and his face slack with sleep. His guard is down, the furrow of his eyebrows that’s usually there is nowhere to be seen. Pete traces a messy hand through his hair gently a few times, before dragging his touch against his neck, past his shoulder and down to his inner forearm. He watches as Patrick stirs a little, nose scrunching up in his sleep and his arm pushing back into Pete’s grip. He smiles down at him softly, watching his eyelashes flutter and being hypnotized by it.

 

Pete hovers over him, pressing their noses together and letting his warm breath fan over Patrick’s face. If he wanted to be annoying, he’d probably lick his face like a dog and slobber all over him. But, for the first time in his life, he doesn’t want to do that. This morning feels like it could stretch on forever, quiet and kind and most likely the start of something new.

 

Patrick opens his eyes and squints up at him. Pete is blinded by the bright blue of his eyes, can’t help but let his smile widen and his eyes crinkle at the corners when Patrick grimaces and pushes against his chest to get him out of his personal space. He obliges, leaning back on his haunches as he waits for Patrick to sit up.

 

After a moment he does, but he clutches his head and groans before Pete remembers all of the events of last night. He’s got a hangover, and maybe Pete’s mean for even thinking it, but he deserves it. He’ll never learn his lesson without consequences. Pete figured that out the hard way with his own addiction. This is a conversation Pete has meant to have with him for a while, but they still have their feelings to properly sort out, where they go from here, what happens to the band.

 

“Serves you right.” Pete says, before Patrick can even open his mouth to whine properly. Patrick peeks at him from behind his arm and glares, but Pete can tell he’s won. Patrick winces, kicks the blankets off his legs, and gets up to get himself a glass of water and some Advil.

 

Pete waits for him impatiently, fidgeting with his leg bouncing and his fingers drumming against the bedspread. Patrick comes back into the bedroom with the water and a couple pieces of toast. Pete leans forward and snatches one of them off the plate. Patrick doesn’t even reprimand him, so he must really feel like shit. This isn’t how Pete had pictured this morning going.

 

They eat their toast in silence while Pete tries to figure out where he should start. He isn’t one for lecturing people, but he’s just trying to help Patrick. He hopes in the long run that he’ll see that.

 

“What are you staring at? Spit it out.” Patrick grumbles, and Pete expected nothing less. Patrick knows exactly what he’s upset about. But he’s gonna make him say it outright anyway. Ever the stubborn bastard.

 

“You promised you were gonna quit.” Pete says, his voice deathly calm even though he can feel the anger bubbling beneath his skin.

 

“Last night was an exception. It was a celebration.” Patrick replies, trying to defend himself, but even he can tell it’s a weak excuse.

 

“No, Trick. I’m not gonna let you sweep this under the rug and act like it isn’t happening. You wouldn’t let me do that. Promise me you’re going to stop.” Pete shakes his head, rubbing a hand over his face. He feels even more exhausted, suddenly.

 

“You’re right. I promise. I don’t need it.” Patrick concedes easily, and Pete can hardly believe it. Maybe more things have changed than he realized.

 

“You don’t break promises to me. You understand? And if you do fall off the wagon, you fucking call me.” Pete demands, grabbing onto Patrick’s hand and squeezing it tightly. Patrick nods, his eyes downcast and his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. He looks like he’s going to cry. Pete can’t have that, or he’ll start crying.

 

“Why did you let me drink last night?” Patrick asks timidly, pulling on the hem of his shirt anxiously.

 

“It was bad judgement, on my part. I didn’t wanna ruin your night. You were happier than I’d seen you in so long. Then I went and fucked it up with that bitch fit I threw at Brendon anyway.” Pete exhales heavily, angry at himself now more than anything else.

 

“That was justified, honestly. I overreacted. Don’t worry about it.” Patrick giggles, and Pete’s  heart skips a beat at the sound. Pete felt like he was having an epiphany.

 

“You like it when I get jealous.” It wasn’t a question. Pete knew he was right as soon as the words left his mouth and a flush painted Patrick’s cheeks and went all the way down his neck. “You were totally all over Brendon on purpose last night, weren’t you?” Pete narrowed his eyes at him.

 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Patrick beamed at him, with all the mock innocence Pete could never dream of pulling off. Maybe he wasn’t such an angel after all. Pete lunges and pins him down with his weight.

 

“You fight dirty, Tricky. You’re lucky that’s what I like.” Pete captured his mouth before he could respond.

 

Patrick fists his hands in Pete’s hair and arches up against him. They separate with a wet noise and Pete starts trailing kisses down his neck.

 

“I think I should shower before we do this. I still smell like booze and sweat. Kind of ruins the mood, doesn’t it? Morning breath, too.” Patrick manages to get out through his panting.

 

“I don’t care,” Pete shakes his head. “You smell like me. Don’t want you to wash it away.” He punctuates the statement by licking Patrick’s collar bone, sucking on the skin and digging his teeth in.

 

Patrick gasps, and Pete can feel him trembling against him. He willingly let’s Patrick switch their positions, so he’s sitting in Pete’s lap and looming over him.

 

Pete pulls his tank top over his head and carelessly tosses it across the room. Patrick is staring at him, chest rising and falling quickly. Pete watches his eyes get swallowed up by his pupils, until there’s barely any blue left.

 

Patrick exhales shakily and then his hands are sliding across Pete’s chest. Pressed against his ribs, tracing the bartskull on his stomach, resting against the frantic flutter of his heart.

 

“I’ve always wanted to touch you right here.” Patrick whispers, like it’s a secret, and maybe it was. But it isn’t anymore. His pale hands trace the necklace of thorns against Pete’s golden skin. He can’t believe he gets to have this.

 

Patrick is leaning forwards then, and his tongue is swirling against the ink, as if he’s trying to see if the thorns will cut him, as if he wants them to. Pete’s hands are trailing down Patrick’s spine, memorizing the curve of it.

 

Pete settles his cheek against the crown of Patrick’s head and lets him mark his skin however he pleases. He has to stop himself from squirming, doesn’t want to buck Patrick off his lap because it feels so good it practically hurts.

 

Patrick shoves him back against the headboard and then he’s attaching his sharp little teeth to Pete’s nipples. Pete whimpers and settles a hand against the back of Patrick’s neck, arching into the warmth of his mouth.

 

“You’re mine. You know that, right? You’ve always been mine.” Pete says, voice breaking with emotion. Patrick pulls back and looks up at him with sparkling eyes and he’s beaming as if Pete has hung the moon. Pete would do anything for him, even the impossible. He’d give him the moon, the sun, and the stars.

 

“Yeah, baby. I’ve always been yours.” Patrick confirms, bringing a hand up to cup Pete’s jaw and rub his cheek with his thumb.

 

Pete can’t do anything but pull him in close and crash their mouths together like he needs it to live. Because he does. He can’t understand how he ever survived without this.

 

The desire is crashing over him in waves now, and suddenly they’re both wearing too many clothes and they need to be closer.

 

“Get naked.” Pete pleads, reluctant to leave his mouth to let him get rid of his clothes. Patrick slides out of his lap and Pete takes the opportunity to shove his boxers down his thighs and toss them on the floor.

 

He swallows hard when he sees Patrick fold up his hoodie from last night and set it on the nightstand. He’s standing in the early morning light with just his boxers on, and it takes Pete’s breath away. He crawls back onto the bed, and he’s so bashful Pete wants to cry.

 

He follows the blush all the way from his cheeks, down his neck, to his chest. Patrick’s gaze settles on Pete’s lap, and he can’t help but wiggle his eyebrows at him.

 

“God, you’re big.” Patrick gulps, eyes wide as he reaches out a hand and wraps it around Pete’s length. Pete inhales sharply, hips jerking upwards at the unexpected touch.

 

“How- how do you wanna do this?” Pete manages to get out, even though the pleasure coursing through him is mind numbingly good and his toes are starting to curl. He thinks Patrick just might kill him and they haven’t even really done anything yet.

 

“Fuck. I wanna be inside you. Please, Pete, let me-“ Patrick squeezes tightly around him and Pete lets out a choked moan.

 

“Yes, yes, yes. Take me.” Pete hisses out through his teeth, throwing his head back in ecstasy. The hand on his cock disappears and he opens his eyes to see Patrick shakily pulling off his boxers.

 

His dick stands up straight against his stomach, thick and blood dark and wet at the tip. It’s even more gorgeous than he imagined it would be.

 

“God, fuck me right _now_.” Pete grunts.

 

“I don’t wanna hurt you.” Patrick murmurs, eyebrows furrowed and his voice sincere. Pete can feel his features soften as he looks up at the only man he’s ever loved. He doesn’t deserve him. But he’s selfish and he wants him. He’s the luckiest person in the world. Because this kid with the golden voice and the halo loves him back somehow. It’s a miracle. But it feels _right._  

 

“You won’t. I trust you.” Pete whispers, because speaking at a normal volume feels as if it will ruin the spell they’ve fallen under. Pete wants to wrap himself up in this moment and never let it go.

 

Patrick keeps one hand on his hip when he opens him up, firmly keeping him from lifting up off the mattress. As much as Pete wants Patrick to suck his dick, he doesn’t think it’s polite to accidentally hit him in the face with it. He’s pretty sure Patrick would kill him.

 

When he’s worked his way up to three fingers and Pete is writhing on the sheets, he pulls back to stroke himself a few times and get his cock wet. Pete whines at the loss, feeling empty and vulnerable with lube dripping down his thighs. He’s waited so long for this he can’t stand it anymore.

 

He grabs Patrick by the shoulders and pulls him on top of him. Patrick lands on top of him and Pete moans as their sweaty skin rubs together. Patrick holds himself over Pete with his arms on either side of his head and looks down at him with a scowl.

 

“So demanding. Just relax. I’ve got you.” Patrick grumbles, but he’s smiling at him and Pete has to lean up and kiss him again. He spreads his legs as far as he can as an invitation, and suddenly Patrick’s hands are gripping his hips tightly and his dick is lined up with his entrance.

 

Contrary to popular belief, Pete has done this a few times before. But it has never felt this good, this monumental. It’s the way he feels when they make music together, only ten times more. It’s like they can do anything together, be anyone.

 

When Patrick pushes inside of him it feels like coming home. He can hear the hallelujah chorus, and it’s Patrick moaning against his mouth. His body draws Patrick all the way in, never wanting him to leave as he’s buried to the hilt.

 

By the look on Patrick’s face, flushed and slack jawed, it’s clear he won’t be able to say anything coherent. But Pete’s okay with that. He has the words for him. He always does.

 

Patrick starts to move, and it’s like suddenly a waterfall of words is pouring out of Pete’s mouth and he couldn’t stop it even if he wanted to.

 

“Fuck. Finally putting those magical hips to good use, aren’t you? God, yeah, don’t stop. I love you. You’re so goddamn beautiful.” Pete whimpers, brushing Patrick’s sweaty hair from his forehead and looking at him adoringly. As best he can while being fucked within an inch of his life, anyway.

 

Patrick’s thrusts start to speed up, getting more sloppy and his noises becoming ridiculously low with every grunt and growl. Pete moves his body to meet him, impaling himself on Patrick’s cock and keening in the back of his throat when the bundle of nerves inside him is hit repeatedly.

 

It feels primal, what they’re doing right now. Like the culmination of years of longing and desire, of waiting and wishing and hoping. Dreams really do come true. Patrick has made a believer out of him.

Pete wraps his legs tight around Patrick’s waist and digs his heels into his lower back, trying to urge him forwards, deeper inside. He watches, mesmerized, as Patrick bites his lip and suddenly he’s being slammed into so hard he can hear the headboard knocking against the wall.

 

Pete throws his head back and gasps, Patrick’s hips starting to jut frantically into him, and he can tell he’s losing control. Patrick buries his face in Pete’s neck and licks the sweat off his skin, making himself a home there as he sucks and digs his teeth in. Pete wants to push him over the edge, but he wants to see Patrick’s face when he does.

 

Pete slides his hands over Patrick’s chest and pushes against him a little until he pulls away to look at him quizzically, but his hips haven’t stopped pistoning into him. Pete arches his back to get the angle just right and then he grabs Patrick by the chin so he can’t look away.

 

“C’mon, baby boy. Fill me up. I know you want to.” Pete grins wolfishly, all sharp canines and crinkled eyes.

 

Patrick’s body freezes against him, and then he’s coming inside Pete, warm and wet. Pete feels triumphant, watching Patrick’s face flood with pleasure. Even the scream he lets out sounds like a melody. Pete licks his lips and clenches around the softening cock inside him. Patrick hisses, pulling out of him and collapsing against his chest.

 

Pete whines, rutting against Patrick’s stomach because he can’t manage to fit his hand between them to get himself off.

 

“You’re a fucking menace.” Patrick giggles against his chest, and then he’s crawling down Pete’s body and settling between his legs again. Pete’s eyebrows are so high they’re hidden beneath his hair.

 

“You don’t have to.” Pete says, mostly because he can’t believe they’re having sex to begin with, let alone that Patrick actually wants to suck his dick.

 

“Oh, but I want to. You’re a slut for my mouth, isn’t that right?” Patrick flutters his eyelashes up at him and Pete is such a fucking goner.

 

Patrick wraps his sinful lips around the tip of Pete’s cock and buries two fingers back inside of his ass without warning. Pete yelps, overwhelmed with sensation and far too close already.

 

Patrick’s fingers circle knowingly against his prostate as he sinks his mouth down around him. He’s imagined this exact moment so many times it’s giving him a head rush now that it’s real. His reaction is visceral, and he can feel the warmth pooling in his gut. He’s gonna come harder than he ever has in his entire life.

 

All it took was dirty talk and a mouth that won’t quit. Frankly, Pete thinks it should be illegal to be this good at giving head. It stings to think about all the practice Patrick must have, but this isn’t about that. This is about them. Besides, he doesn’t have much room to think about anything else as his mind is overtaken by the avalanche of _warmwetmore._

 

Patrick’s eyes are closed, his brows furrowed in concentration as he takes Pete deeper and holds him down. Pete’s pretty sure he’s entered a state of nirvana at this point.

 

Pete’s balls tighten and suddenly he’s on the edge again, wants to look away from the tantalizing dream of a man between his legs but he can’t. Patrick blinks his eyes open and gazes at him with laser-like focus, as if he knows Pete is ready to explode.

 

He pulls off and licks the tip like it’s a fucking lollipop. Pete’s definitely gonna write a song about this someday. For now, Patrick twists his fingers just right and Pete is coming in his mouth. It feels like it’s being pulled out of him, jack knifing upwards into the heat of Patrick’s mouth and pulling at his own hair in a desperate attempt to keep himself from floating.

 

He falls back against the mattress, completely spent, but he can’t help the exhilarated laugh that escapes his lips. He waited a decade for that, and it’s so much better than he could’ve ever dreamed. God, it was worth it. He doesn’t think he’s ever felt this happy, with sunshine stuck between his teeth.

 

Patrick curls up against him and settles his head on Pete’s sweaty chest. The air smells like sex and promise.

 

“Were you impressed?” Patrick asks, lips pressed to his skin. Pete snorts, incredulous.

 

“Have you seen yourself? You’ve been my personal walking wet dream for the last ten years, what do you think?” Pete has the urge to shake him by the shoulders and tell him he’s clearly a sex god.

 

Patrick blushes, having the nerve to be bashful even after what they just did. Pete is endeared, to say the least.

 

“I’m not known for my sex appeal.” Patrick murmurs, running a hand up Pete’s side in a soothing motion.

 

“Do me a favor and shut the fuck up. You literally fucked me so hard I’m surprised I’m not in the afterlife right now.” Pete replies, and Patrick laughs. He’d do anything to make Patrick laugh every day for the rest of his life.

 

“Pete Wentz, my own personal cheerleader.” Patrick replies, his eyes starting to droop shut.

 

“Cheerleader, creepy stalker, love of your life, you name it.” Pete teases, wrapping an arm around Patrick before he turns his head and his eyes catch on the clock by the bed. Patrick flicks him on the nipple and settles his face in his armpit.

 

He hates to leave a sleepy, post-orgasm, happy Patrick, but he has a flight to catch in about two hours, give or take. Naked. He forgot naked. Shit.

 

He stretches his arms over his head, languid as he gently pushes Patrick off him and he makes a wounded noise, like a lost puppy.

 

“Sorry, Lunchbox. I’ve got a flight to catch soon. I need a shower and then I have to pack.” Pete pouts down at Patrick.

 

“That nickname will never die, will it? Ugh. At least let me shower with you.” Patrick groans, rolling over to glare at him. Pete gives him his signature grin, so wide it practically splits his face.

 

“It is undying, like my love for you.” Pete states dramatically, holding a hand to his chest for emphasis. “But no, I can’t allow you to defile me again just yet. We need to talk first. Also, I’m a bit worried you’d fall asleep standing up.”

 

“Fine. Hurry up.” Patrick sighs, rolling his eyes. Pete walks down the hall and he finds himself grinning up at the ceiling while he waits.

 

Sadly, he comes back fully dressed. It’s a real shame he can’t see all that caramel skin again. Pete sits on the edge of the bed, rubbing a towel through his hair with smudged eyeliner running down his cheek. Patrick crawls towards him and rubs it off his face with his thumb. Pete sticks his tongue out at him and throws the towel across the room.

 

Patrick can’t bring himself to care as he watches Pete grab last night’s clothes off the floor. He pointedly leaves the hoodie Patrick was wearing. It makes him smile. He’s gonna need it when Pete’s gone.

 

Once his bags are all packed, Pete crawls back into the bed with him and fiddles with the sheet around his waist.

 

“Promise me you won’t freak out.” Pete finally says, his voice timid and shy and so unlike him it scares Patrick.

 

“I promise.” Patrick replies dubiously. He waits, and Pete reaches out to grab his hands and squeeze.

 

“I wanna get the band back together. Hear me out. Not now, I know you have Soul Punk promo and touring to do for the next year and a half. But we can write together, can’t we? Start on the next album. I’ve already talked to the other guys and they’re on board. I just have to say the word.” Pete rambles, his eye twitching nervously.

 

“Because that’s not a lot of pressure,” Patrick chuckles, but he already knows his answer. He has for a long time. “But yes. Of course. Always. I’d do anything for you.” Patrick reassures him. Because sometimes Pete needs that. More than he’d care to admit.

 

“I want you to do this for yourself. Not for me. Tell me it’s what you want.” Pete says carefully, but his throat feels tight. He can feel the tears pooling in his eyes, no matter which way this goes.

 

“It’s what I want. I love this band. I love _you_. We can make this work. The things that are the hardest are the most worthwhile. Making music with you is what I was born to do.” Patrick replies fiercely.

 

“I was hoping you would say that.”

 

xxx

 

**January 2013**

 

“If you and Joe start singing _The Boys Are Back In Town_ again I’m gonna murder you both. You’ll help me, won’t you Andy?” Patrick is leaning up against Pete’s kitchen counter, fluttering his eyelashes at Andy in the hopes that he’ll be on Patrick’s side for this one.

 

They’re having a The Band Is Getting Back Together party at Pete’s big fancy house in LA. Only their closest friends are invited, because it’s a secret gathering and the big reveal that they’re dropping a new album won’t be for another few weeks.

 

Joe and Pete are looking at each other with shit-eating grins and Patrick is about ready to start throwing a tantrum if that’s what it takes. Andy tilts his head in consideration, and lets a smile spread across his face before he answers.

 

“No. That would defeat the purpose of this party.” Andy replies cheerily. Pete laughs his stupid donkey laugh and Joe gives Andy a high five. Patrick pouts.

 

“Besides, Tricky. You owe me drunk karaoke. Minus the alcohol, obviously. I’d settle for a strip tease.” Pete beams down at him, all teeth and crinkles by his eyes. Joe and Andy don’t even blink at this statement, fairly used to Pete’s typical antics.

 

“That’s not happening.” Patrick says flatly. He can’t even muster the energy to roll his eyes at the request.

 

“Patrick, Pete’s hand is literally in your back pocket right now.” Joe retorts.

 

“What’s your point?” Patrick sighs, irritated.

 

“The fact that you’re letting him grope you in front of everyone and not elbowing him in the ribs is new. What’s a strip tease in front of your friends?” Joe is clearly on drugs right now. Why doesn’t anyone ever take Patrick’s side, goddamnit?

 

“I’m not that kind of boy. Especially while sober.” Patrick grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Pete leans in and brushes his lips right against the shell of Patrick’s ear.

 

“That’s funny. I remember you telling me something very different about the kind of boy you are.” Pete whispers, hot breath fanning against Patrick’s neck and making him shiver in his grip.

 

“I’m not doing it.” Patrick says, a little breathless now. His resolve is kind of crumbling. He does enjoy the satisfaction of giving his boyfriend what he wants.

 

“Alright. I guess I’ll just go talk to Gabe then. Come find me if you change your mind, darling.” Pete’s gone with a dramatic flourish and a kiss to his cheek. Patrick stares after him, shell shocked. He can hear Pete’s voice calling out ‘Gabey baby!’ from the living room.

 

“Am I hallucinating right now?” Patrick asks Andy. Joe has followed Pete into the living room, and they’re the only two left in the kitchen.

 

“‘Fraid not.” Andy pats him on the shoulder in a comforting gesture.

 

“I’m gonna do the fucking strip tease, aren’t I?” Patrick says, mulishly, more to himself than anything.

 

“I think you’re gonna sing karaoke _while_ you do the strip tease.” Andy laughs.

 

Patrick flips him off and stalks into the living room to find Pete sitting in Gabe’s lap. His boyfriend being tactile isn’t anything new. But it still starts a fire low in his belly when he sees him all over other people. In this moment he hates Gabe with a burning passion, and he feels guilty about it.

 

Instead of stomping over there and throwing a fit like he wants to, he makes his way over to Frank and has a pleasant conversation catching up. Travie is in the armchair, Ryan and Joe are talking animatedly in the corner, and Gerard is sat on the other side of Gabe and Pete.

 

Brendon wasn’t invited to this party, mainly because Pete is still on rocky ground with him because he’s stubborn, but also because he can’t be wherever Ryan is. Which is a long and heartbreaking story for another time. Will, Ray, and Mikey are sitting on the couch opposite the coffee table showing each other videos on their phones and their hands dipping into the bowls of food in front of them. Patrick makes his way around the room and finally circles back around to Pete, now with his head in Gabe’s lap and his legs draped over Gerard.

 

“Yes, dear?” Pete blinks up at him, faux innocently. Patrick wants to push him off of the other two men, but he’s not that immature. Also, he wants Gerard to stop giving him that weird look.

 

“I’m not standing on top of the table while I do this so I need you to move it out of the way and set up the song for me in your speaker system.” Patrick gets right to the point. He wants to get this humiliation out of the way. Pete lights up, rolling off of the boys’ laps and wrapping Patrick in a tight hug.

 

“Thank you thank you thank you!” He chants delightedly. Gerard and Gabe exchange a look of amusement. Andy has made his way into the room and seems to be gossiping about what he’s about to do. All of their friends start clapping and cheering and there’s even a few catcalls mixed in.

 

Pete shoves the table to the far side of the room to make space and grabs his phone to connect it to the wireless speakers. He hands it off to Patrick and he scrolls until he finds the song and clicks play with a deep breath and a look of determination.

 

Pete’s eyes widening as he plops down on the middle cushion of the couch is priceless, and definitely worth it.

 

_I’ve been really tryin’ baby, tryin’ hold back this feeling for so long_

 

Patrick starts to sing, voice low and steady as he takes the fedora off his head and tosses it at Pete. He fumbles, barely catching it before sliding it on and staring at Patrick in what can only be described as awe.

 

He starts to feel the music in his toes, swaying along as he continues to sing and pops open the top button of his cardigan. Thank God for layers.

 

He doesn’t pay attention to the eyes watching him all around the room, focuses only on Pete. He is on a mission.

 

_Let’s love baby, let’s get it on, sugar_

 

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he ends up on all fours, crawling towards Pete with a twinkle in his eye as his voice rings out, growling and being pulled from his chest. He feels wound tight, but it’s not bad. It’s so good that it hurts, the attention on him, the pleased look on Pete’s face.

He places his hands on Pete’s thighs and rests his cheek against his knee. Pete buries a hand in his hair and pulls and he has to stop himself from letting out an indecent noise.

 

_Since we’ve got to be here, let’s live, I love you_

 

He’s untangling himself from Pete and turning his back to him a few seconds later, gyrating his hips in slow motion as he throws his head back and finally unbuttons his cardigan all the way.

 

_There’s nothing wrong with me loving you baby, no no, and giving yourself to me can never be wrong, if the love is true_

 

Patrick gracefully pulls himself out of the cardigan, one sleeve at a time, and lets it pool around his feet, arms spread out from his sides in a perfect pose. He turns on his heel, struts till he’s standing right above Pete and he has to crane his neck just to make eye contact.

 

_If the spirit moves you, let me groove you good, let your love come down_

 

The song is coming to a close, so with all the bravery and self-confidence he can muster, he pulls the band tee-shirt over his head and sits himself in Pete’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and singing directly to him.

 

He can hear everyone around them clapping and yelling, but it’s all background noise to the pounding of his heart and he can’t look away from those whiskey eyes.

 

“You trying to kill me?” Pete murmurs, rubbing a hand up and down Patrick’s spine.

 

“You asked for it.” Patrick shrugs, bashful now as he realizes everyone is still staring at him. He can feel the chill in the room, is tempted to get up and put his shirt back on. Pete stops him from doing so, pulling him in closer and bumping their noses together.

 

“Have I ever told you that your voice is ethereal?” Pete says, and presses their lips together before Patrick can respond. When they come up for air, the blush on Patrick’s cheeks is dark.

 

“Maybe once or twice.” Patrick giggles, burying his face in Pete’s chest.

 

“I love you so much. I wanna cut open my own chest and carve room there for you, so you can live inside me right next to my heart where you belong. I can carry you around forever with me.” Pete says, voice sincere as he settles his chin on the top of Patrick’s head. It makes Patrick’s mouth go dry, how morbid yet sappy this man is.

 

“Don’t get all gross and poetic on me.” Patrick groans.

 

“It’s the only way I know how to be.”

 

xxx

  _With hope in dire threat, one question lingers: can it be saved?_


End file.
